


Take My Hand

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-27
Updated: 2007-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 21:44:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://peppervl.livejournal.com/"><b>peppervl</b></a>; the second of my pay-it-forward gifts. Set around January or February of this year. Orlando's not perfect, but he's not bad either.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Take My Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PepperVL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperVL/gifts).



> Written for [**peppervl**](http://peppervl.livejournal.com/); the second of my pay-it-forward gifts. Set around January or February of this year. Orlando's not perfect, but he's not bad either.

The wind was brisk when they got out of Orlando's rental car, and was much colder as they got closer to the water. Viggo shoved his hands deep in his pockets not bothering to wipe the hair away from his eyes as it streaked across his face. Orlando hugged himself, tucking his hands under his arms, as they stepped out onto the boardwalk, the occasional spray and mist dampening their skin.

He hated small talk but endured it for Orlando. With each step they took the conversation seemed more and more inane and he wondered why Orlando had asked to see him, why he was here basically wasting both of their times. Whenever he tried to steer them toward deeper waters, to bring up subjects that he could sink into and explore, Orlando would shut down so eventually he stopped, letting his one-time lover direct the pace of both the discussion and their walk. After all the time that had passed, this was not the kind of reunion Viggo expected and he consciously pulled back, letting all expectations drift away on the cold ocean waves that crashed to their right.

# # #

Over the years he watched his friend slowly disappear behind costumes and masks. Whether in front of a camera or not, Orlando stopped being the genuine and open soul he loved in New Zealand and gradually became superficial and closed, a person who valued career over everything else. He didn't leave his friends behind, they simply had to make accommodations for him and his new life. If they were able to compromise, to accept what Orlando was willing to give, then there would be room for them on the Orlando Express.

Viggo could have had a reserved seat on the ride. But the price for the ticket had been too high for him to pay. Even as a young man his career had been secondary in his life. He hoped to be able to make a living doing something creative and challenging, but beyond that he was open to any and all possibilities that came his way. Fame wasn't important but the people in his life were. And when his career began to interfere with those relationships he was the one who wanted to compromise to make things work.

He didn't have to think when the offer was made at the end of filming. He wasn't going to be anyone's secret, wasn't going to sit at home to watch someone who supposedly loved him pretend he was no longer in his life. And although it hurt to say goodbye, he knew it was the only decision he could make and never regretted the end of his relationship with Orlando.

Maintaining the friendship had been harder than he expected. Understandably, Orlando had been hurt at his rejection and over time distance grew between them. But Viggo made every effort to show that his door was never closed. Cards and gifts were regularly sent on birthdays and Christmas, and random packages would make their way to Orlando's manager when he saw something that made him think of the young man. He was never sure if Orlando received any of his mail; there was never an obvious acknowledgement and he didn't have a regular address where Orlando could be reached. For his part, Orlando would call on every birthday, but always hurried the conversation. There was never enough time he'd say, too few moments to steal from his busy schedule. But it was evident that time wasn't the problem, but rather a decision that it wasn't worth the effort.

Viggo didn't respect the choices Orlando made, career-related or personal. But no one's decisions are always right so Viggo made sure he stayed available. From time to time Orlando would call and occasionally want to know what Viggo thought about a film he was considering or a role he had played. He never volunteered his opinion about Orlando's career moves, about any of the choices the man made in his life. But he wouldn't lie if asked, even when he knew it would cause pain. And on more than one occasion, Viggo had injured his friend with his honesty, had stung him with his words. Orlando gradually retreated more and more, and over time friends became the mechanism through which they kept in touch.

# # #

Until out of the blue Orlando had called him needing to talk and now here they were, speaking but not speaking, walking down the coast on a late winter day. Silences were not companionable, and Viggo began to wish he had simply said no, told Orlando if he needed to talk they could do so over the phone. He tried to muffle a sigh by turning his head into the wind, letting the air steal the frustrated exhalation as it escaped and hopefully send it to the horizon. Instead it blew straight into Orlando, hit him in the chest with the threat of finality and last chances.

At first Viggo couldn't hear the words, had to reel himself back to be present in this moment once more. Orlando spoke of moving too fast, of taking a break, of travel and plays, of actively seeking small character parts. He talked about looking in the mirror and not liking what he saw, of trying to find himself, of missed opportunities and deep regrets. He shared fears and hopes, of shattered doubts and rediscovered dreams.

On the surface Viggo was proud of him, happy that he was finally looking at his life and taking control. But he understood what was being said underneath, knew what Orlando was hoping for, what he wanted from him, and in that space all of it was just words. Speech with no substance. He needed more, needed to feel something deeper before he could accept that what was being said was genuine, was really from Orlando's heart.

The words continued, more personal now, more focused on Viggo. A fear of rejection, that his choices had ruined any hope of salvaging their once strong friendship, kept Orlando distant and too afraid to reach out for what he truly wanted. Sorrow and apologies, assurances and promises, filled the empty spaces in Viggo's soul. And he wanted to believe, yearned to know to his very core that it was true.

He stopped and studied Orlando's face; considered every angle, every bump; purposefully examined Orlando's eyes searching for insincerity and half-truths. A maelstrom of thoughts and feelings were swirling through his head, fighting each other, challenging him. He tried to hang on to his doubts, cling to them to keep himself safe, because he was only now admitting to himself how much it hurt that Orlando hadn't chosen him, that he hadn't been enough. But a slight brush of fingers against his own silenced the warring voices in his ears, diffused the tumult in his mind, and all he heard was Orlando.

With three words Viggo's fears washed away, slipped through the weather-beaten wood beneath their feet and disappeared into the sand.

 _Take my hand_

The simplicity of the gesture held the key, made it true and right.

 _Take my hand_

Here on the boardwalk, in front of curious eyes and hidden cameras, here in the light of a blinding winter sun Orlando wanted to hold his hand, to stop hiding and walk as one.

 _Take my hand_

This wasn't acting or artifice and Viggo felt the last of his apprehension and misgivings release faith and certainty in his soul.

 _Take my hand_

As they continued down the path, hand in hand, the words played in his head, danced and swayed together as lovers, leaving warm trails of joy in their wake. He would write a poem with these words one day, fill a canvas with what those words unleashed in his heart.


End file.
